


Don't Be Hesitatin'

by Emono



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Language, M/M, OOC Mitchy, Threats of Violence, figure skating AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 21:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: Mitch's laces break right before he goes out on the ice to compete and has a breakdown. Matt is there to lace him back out and push his cute little ass out onto the rink. (Scene stolen from I, Tonya and blatant and obvious Rupaul's Drag Race quote)





	Don't Be Hesitatin'

**[Roughly Mitch's outfit](https://fthmb.tqn.com/6JLv9ajNg3dpGpFNuN_CH_0OrPI=/768x0/filters:no_upscale\(\)/daisuke-56a2ea465f9b58b7d0cfc19b.jpg) **

 

* * *

 

 

Mitch couldn’t breathe. The stark white walls of the hallway were closing in, he was sure of it. The lights were blinding and his vision was blurring up. He tried to blink it away and was horrified to realize that he was starting to cry. A sob caught in his throat and the sound was swallowed up by the chatter of his coach, manager, the two officials flagging them, and the trainer trying to relace his skates. The announcer's voice from the rink bounced off the tile and reached them in muffled waves.

 

He wasn’t sure what they were saying but he knew it wasn’t good.

 

“Please,” Mitch sobbed, hands laced behind his head as he tried not to bash his skull off the wall. The trainer glanced up at him but their hands kept moving over Mitch’s skate. The laces on his left had broken literally right before he’d stepped out on the ice and the judges had granted him a tiny window of time to fix it.

 

Somewhere the clock was running down and Mitch couldn’t _breathe_.

 

“We’re taking too long,” Mitch whined. He dropped his hands and tilted his head back to try and will away the tears. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”

 

“She’s doing her best, Marns,” Freddie promised with that infuriatingly calm voice. His eyes didn’t beg patience but demanded it. He was a tough coach but he’d always been good to him. “Just keep breathing. It’s going to be alright. She’ll be done in a minute.”

 

The woman kneeling at his feet was Finnish and tan and pretty as hell. Any other time Mitch would be flirting with her but his heart was in his throat and he was sure he was going to throw up. Especially because his laces kept getting stuck in the loops and didn’t seem to want to tighten.

 

“How much time do we have?” his manager Pat demanded from one of the officials. The man looked at his watch and then whispered in his manager’s ear. Pat had been more of a father than his own had ever been and it wasn’t often the man looked scared. Now was one of those rare times and it hit Mitch right in the gut. “Christ.”

 

Mitch’s mouth quivered and another tear fell. “A-Am I not going to make it?”

 

“You’ve got plenty of time,” Pat lied. He winced and dropped his eyes. “You’ve got three minutes and some change.”

 

“Oh _God!_ ” Mitch wailed. A tremor ravaged through him and he thought his very ribs were going to shake out of place. He was freezing in his costume and he knew he was ruining his makeup and none of it mattered because he’d never get out onto the ice on time. A noise escaped him between a whimper and a sob and he tried to swallow down more but they kept bubbling up. He could hear Freddie and Pat trying to talk him down but it was muffled and cluttered.

 

Everything he worked for his entire life was coming to a head and he was going to lose it before ever cutting the ice. He’d given his whole life to figure skating and he was fucking _good_ and no one would see it. This was the qualifier for the Olympic team.  All the ice skating lessons, all the sacrifices his mom had made, all the sacrifices _he’d_ made! The early mornings, the stupid diets, the long-ruined friendships, the icings and the bruises and the cramps and long bus rides to rinks - it was all for _nothing_.

 

“Fucking move, Freddie, Jesus Christ. Shut _up_ , Pat. He’s not listening, so just - get out of my fucking way.” Mitch felt his skate shift and a wide palm rubbed up and down his calf. “Mitchy, baby, look at me?"

 

Mitch frowned and managed to pry his eyes open. That voice…

 

“Matt?” Mitch rasped. A rush of relief swept through him though he was confused as Matt replaced the trainer in front of him. “Y-You’re supposed to be in the stands? What’s wrong? Did I run out of time?”

 

“You’ve got time,” Matt soothed with that easy smile of his. The pressure in Mitch’s chest eased as Matt confidently took his laces and started relacing his skate like he’d done a thousand times at hundreds of different rinks all over Canada. Matt had been his best friend since they met at a rink when he was seventeen. He’d been in love with Matt since day one and just this last year he’d somehow convinced the man to date him despite their age difference and his horrible travel schedule.

 

Matt had always been an invaluable source of strength in his friendship but as a partner he was over the moon perfect. He was patient and calm like Freddie but he had an overflow of pure warmth that showed in every gesture. Every kiss on the cheek or arm around the waist felt like home. He’d never doubted for one second that Matt had loved him. He felt it in every touch. Those big hands had touched every inch of him and now they were threading and tightening the laces without a hint of hesitation.

 

“You smudged your pretty makeup,” Matt teased lightly. “Pat, get Mitchy a mirror?”

 

Pat handed over a compact and Mitch snatched it away with an impatient scowl. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not getting out there in time.”

  
  
“Don’t be stupid, we’re almost done here,” Matt scoffed as he tested the give on the lower laces before continuing up the skate. “Fix your eyeliner.”

 

“I could look like a clown and it won’t matter,” Mitch griped even as he opened up the compact and gently rubbed away the dark smudges from his mascara and liner. His makeup was always a subtle enhancement but even “natural” meant at least seven different products on his face, the judges wanted a made up doll after all. “They’re going to hate me. They always do! They don’t like my music or my costumes and now they have a reason to kick me out. My skate-”

 

“Your skate is fine,” Matt cut him off gently. “Your costume is beautiful just like the rest of you and your music is classical remix. They’re going to love it.” He looked up and grinned at his boyfriend. Mitch caught the heat in his gaze and blushed. “You look gorgeous, baby. You always do.”

 

Mitch fussed with the tulle at his shoulder. It was cornflower blue, a color that he had agonized over for weeks when putting together his costume. The same decision making was made over were jewels on the outfit that draped at the neck in a way that made him look more buff than his frame allowed. He couldn’t afford to buy expensive costumes like the other competitors so he sewed all his own shirts. He’d loved it until he’d put it on tonight and Matt reminded him all over again why he’d picked it.

 

“You’re just saying that,” Mitch grumbled. “Dylan and Connor were already out there and the judges fucking love Connor. They eat him up every single time he goes out there.” He pitched his voice up high. “ ‘He’s perfect, he’s beautiful, he’s as fast as Tonya Harding.’ And Dylan-”

 

“Mitchy,” Matt chuckled.

 

“-that asshole _stones_ his _tights_! Who does that?”

 

“Mitch,” Matt said more firmly. He finished up the laces and made sure to knot it just right. He felt around the laces and pressed down on the side of the skate. “How does that feel? Tight enough?”

 

“It’s perfect,” Mitch choked, trying not to cry again. The feel of the skate was so important and over the years Matt had perfected it. He hated how his voice trembled. “Thank you.”

 

“Good. Now…” Matt scooted up between his legs and leaned up to cradle his jaw between his hands. Mitch sighed at how right those wide palms felt on his skin. Matt was smiling at him without a trace of worry and Mitch drank in that unwavering calm. “Get those eyes dry before you fuck up your make up anymore, okay?”

 

Mitch chuckled and felt the last of the tension in his chest fade.

 

“ _You’re_ beautiful, _you’re_ perfect, _you_ -” Matt tapped the rhinestones at his side. “Stoned this shirt.”

 

A full laugh burst out of Mitch and Matt grinned, nose all scrunched up and teeth showing. Their foreheads bumped and they simply breathed in one another as the giggles died down.

 

“I _did_ stone this shirt,” Mitch whispered, their noses brushing. “All by myself too.”

 

“Yeah you fucking did, baby,” Matt swore, rubbing just behind his ears and bringing up goosebumps. “So forget Strome and Mcdavid. Fuck them. Tonight is about you, Mitch. You’re getting on that Olympic team _tonight_. Now get out there and show them who they’re picking.”

 

Mitch sucked in a breath and it felt like a fresh confidence. He nodded and Matt helped him stand. “Kiss for luck?”

 

The kiss was quick but it was the the shot of liquid luck he needed.

 

Everything after that happened in a blur. Matt and Pat rushed him out onto the ice. He remembered bracing himself on Freddie’s shoulder as his coach gave him a few last pieces of advice. Jump high, land tight, _skate_. And he did. His blades cut through the ice like they were white hot and he landed every movement with the appropriate flourish. He landed a triple jump and in the fourth move he hit his straight-legged backflip. He didn’t dare try for landing on one skate and both skates hit the ice with a clack he felt all the way up to his knees. But he _landed_.  

 

And with the last note of his music he struck his pose, head thrown back and hand reaching up - always _up_ , always towards the lights and the stars and his dreams. There was no way he didn’t win a spot on the team.

 

If somehow he didn’t, he wasn’t just going to break Mcdavid’s knee - he was going to pummel his pretty fucking face in until no one in Alberta recognized him. _Try getting your face on a billboard with a crooked nose, you stupid fuck_.

 

Mitch took his bows and smiled at the judges and waved at the audience and hoped, vaguely, it didn’t come to all that.


End file.
